Shattered Tears
by Aranita
Summary: Lupin&Black angst with loads of melodrama and soon to be subject to severe slashiness . . . as in, you can expect the rating to go way up in proceeding chapters. Enjoy.


A lot of time has passed since I wrote this, like two years ago or so.

Perhaps more . . . it could have been as long ago as the end of grade nine.

covers mouth in a daintily scandalized expression

Please forgive and/or inform me of any grammatical errors (I seem rather prone to those) and whatever garishly prominent spelling mistakes you may encounter.

**Disclaimers:** Considering my utter lack of originality, and being that I am in fact NOT richer than the Queen of England, I should be so bold as to say it is in fact QUITE obvious that I do NOT own Harry Potter, and lay NO claim to any of the characters in this rip-off whatsoever.

(However, in the strictly hypothetical situation that the marauders were mine, odds are you would not wish to be privy to the things I'd have them do . . . .)

**Warnings:** This is SLASH, as in steamy GUY ON GUY. There are NO WOMEN involved in the sexual intercourse that this fan fiction vividly depicts.

As the name implies, this in not a very uplifting story, the plot is depressing, the characters are miserable, and my attempts at comic relief are pathetic. Unless your the sick type that becomes irrationally giddy when reading explicite smut (high five) this will not make a bad day any better.

You have been forewarned.

Shattered Tears

Remus Lupin awoke the next morning on the freshly bloodied floor boards of the Shrieking Shack in such condition that – upon inspection – one would think that he had been attacked by a large pack of blood thirsty hounds, then left to die.

'Not too far off.' He thought.

He tried to get up, however, the fractured bones that he didn't recall acquiring burrowed painfully into his flesh, and with a gasp of pain, he let himself fall back onto his side.

'Just perfect,' he thought cynically, 'the night that I tell them not to accompany me is the night that I need them most. How long might it be until someone comes?' It was a school day, so they (James, Sirius and Peter) probably would not visit him in the infirmary until after classes, which was at three in the afternoon. Looking out the broken window, Remus could see the thin rays of twilight in the sky, preparing for the imminent dawn.

'Not for a while then.' He shivered as the frozen winter wind whipped through the badly built house, and stared woefully at his shredded cloak. Like it, the rest of his garments lay scattered around the room in pieces. Remus observed the dimly lit room and spotted the tattered four poster bed in the far corner, a good fifteen feet away.

Heaving himself to his feet with no little difficulty, he became aware of many other grievous wounds, the main ones being several deep gashes in his sides and an extremely strong banging in his head , which – he guessed – was most likely due to repeatedly slamming himself against the wall - which would also account for his broken ribs.

Wrapping his arms around his torso, feeling that – because of the nausea incurred by the effort that it took to stand – he was going to be sick. He leaned heavily against the wall to wait it out.

But it never passed, so Remus decided – against his better judgment – to go for it. Taking a step he later wished he'd never attempted, his trembling legs gave out beneath him and he landed hard against the wooden floor. His defeated body, protested sharply and the boy cried out in pain.

Panting, Remus closed his eyes tight and surrendered to the agony that coursed through his body at high speed. 'How did I manage all of this?' he thought to himself incredulously. 'Even on the worst nights it's not been this bad.' He succumbed to the fact that he would never know, because he could never remember what happened on those dreaded full moons. All he ever remembered were emotions.

With his friends present, the wolf was happy, feeling the same sort of joy Remus felt when he didn't have to face those terrible nights alone. But now, all he could recall feeling was sorrow and hate, and an incredible self-loathing that still wouldn't go away.

All too clearly, the events of the previous night's dinner replayed themselves in his mind . . . . . . .

He'd been at his house's table, listening to the scheming of his fellow marauders as they concocted a new prank to play on the Slytherins, (though he never actively participated in the carrying out of these pranks, he still enjoyed listening to the brilliant – if malicious – ideas that his friends came up with.)

The young werewolf had scarcely picked at his food – which was normal the evening preceding the full moon – when Bartholomew, (his father's owl) flew in, and landed his shabby self down on the oak table before him.

The dark-blue seal on the parchment intrigued Remus. His father never sent him anything, it was always his mother that sent him loving letters about how things were going at home, as well as some advice on how to take care of the pain (it was she who enlightened him on the many benefits of chocolate) or photos of another one of her art exhibitions, or of some distant relative's new baby, or of some wedding they'd attended.

In short, his father never sent him anything.

Until now.

Remus broke the seal that showed (ironically enough) a full moon crossed over by a sword and a hunting rifle (shedding light on his ancestor's history of persecuting and killing werewolves.) Remus shivered at the thought of the silver blade and bullets, he then unfolded the thick paper and read.

Remus Jonathan Lupin,

I regret to inform you that your mother has passed away. As I'm sure you know, she fell ill the night that you turned into the thing that you are, and she never recovered. It was the grief that killed her, and with every letter that she received from your school informing us on your condition, she got worse.

Had it been up to me, I would have wouldn't have read them, I would have – I _should_ have burned them, for I couldn't care less about how you – the monster that mocks the Lupin family tree - fare. But I didn't, because she insisted on seeing them, on pouring over them and worrying herself into fevers.

However, I wish for you to know that - from now on - I won't even bother opening them. As far as I'm concerned, YOU are responsible for her death. YOU killed her. And I would rejoice were you to perish as well. You wouldn't be missed. Your mother was a weak woman, she let her emotions affect her despite my best efforts and now she will never come back.

Do not commit the error of considering yourself my son any longer, for you are dead to me.



Jonathon Romulus Lupin

Remus starred at the letter in complete and utter shock. It fell from his shaking hand and he watched as its corners slowly curled inwards - much like the petals of a withering flower. The parchment turned first gray, then black as it crumpled into a dreary, wrinkled mass, now completely illegible.

The boy's golden eyes glistened with tears and his whole body began to tremble. James and Peter had both been too busy to notice because they were currently engrossed with a scratchy diagram of how their plan would unfold. Sirius on the other hand studied his friend with concern etched into his dark-gray eyes.

Quietly excusing himself, Remus stood and quickly left the Great Hall, followed discretely by a certain individual with long, black hair.

Urgency drew him to the Whomping Willow, and he rushed through the passage just as the sun set. As he raced, his mind recalled his father's words, 'YOU killed her!'

Remus forcefully threw himself into the wall of the tunnel and crumpled to the ground. He lay in a heap, and let the voracious sobs that he'd been holding back shake his thin body. His father was right, he _did_ kill her, she'd always blamed herself for not taking better care of him, and it was all his fault!

"Remus?" the deep, gentle voice of Sirius Black pulled him from his thoughts. "Moony?" His tall, black haired friend knelt beside him and placed a large hand on the other boy's shoulder. "What happened?" He asked, "What was in that letter?"

"Nothing." mumbled Remus.

"Don't lie." the grip on his shoulder tightened slightly.

"I said it was nothing!" yelled the honey-haired boy, shaking the other's hand off, and rising to face him. "Don't bother coming tonight, and tell James and Peter not to come either. I want to be alone."

Sirius' face took on a defiant expression. "But -"

"DON"T COME!!" Tears fell from Remus' eyes.

"Alright." Sirius conceded. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Remus turned on his heel and continued running to that house he so dreaded – save when his friends were there. He didn't deserve them though. He deserved nothing save to suffer, for even death was too good a fate.

Thanks to him, his mother was gone forever.

He'd been ten at the time, he could still remember the horrible burning of the werewolf bite that graced his arm. He'd been terrified when the great beast had thrown itself on him, and he'd been extremely surprised when he woke up, since he'd expected the thing to kill him.

He'd awoken to a small, private hospital room. It was dark, it was cold, and – aside from him – it was empty. The only things alerting him as to what was occurring outside his room, were sounds.

He could hear it all.

Though things through the door should have sounded muffled, he heard the conversation the doctor was having with his parents clearly.

"He's stable now, the crisis is over."

"But he was bleeding so much." Remus' mother's voice was trembling.

"Yes," continued the doctor, his voice resonated with reassurance. "But we've stopped the bleeding and fixed his arm. He's a strong little boy, he should pull through."

What he said next, was spoken in a much lower tone.

"However, he was defiantly infected with the lycanthropy strain. I'm very sorry."

All Remus could hear for the next few minutes (though it seemed like hours) were the bloodcurdling screams of his mother and the sounds of objects breaking as the always proper, reserved, and delicate woman tore the waiting room apart.

The unfortunate boy (absolutely horrified by the entire situation) pulled the covers over his head, and let out a small whimper when the door to his room began to be shaken on its hinges, and pounded on in such a manner that one would think that it was about to be broken down.

"Amalthea!" His father's authoritative voice shot through the air. "You can't go in there!"

"Why not!?" Her voice was laced with fury and fear. "Why can't I see my son?"

Remus could hear a scuffle outside, no doubt his father forcing her away from the door.

"Let me go!" She shrieked. "Let me see him!!"

Smack!

Thud!

Silence prevailed in the next room save for his mother's gasping and his father's pacing. The golden-eyed boy's blood boiled. How DARE he hit her again! His father had always been controlling and abusive towards his mother – but never in public!

Finally, the doctor regained his senses.

"Madam!" There was the rustle of his medical cloak as he knelt, "Are you alright?"

A soft moan was his only response.

"I'll take her to a room." Offered the doctor and Remus could just imagine his father's curt nod of compliance.

"My son . . ." her voice became faint as she was carried away.

That was all the ten-year-old boy in the lonely (and defiantly not sound-proof) room could take. A dizzy spell took over, and he passed out. The only sound in the small room was the slow beeping of the medical apparatus he was hooked up to. His arm throbbed dully.

Since then, the poor woman had never been the same. She fell ill easily, and she needed help to walk most of the time. Soon, she didn't even get out of bed to attend any of the social events that she used to love. Instead, she kept to her room, painting what came to her mind.

'She was a wonderful artist.' Thought Remus. He recalled her many paintings, the beautiful mixtures of dark tones with lighter ones, how – as time went by – the darker colours became more prominent. Now that he thought of it, he couldn't recall any of her latter works that were in any way happy, no matter what she painted; it always seemed to radiate sadness. 'A view into her soul no doubt.' He thought.

Carefully turning onto his back, the werewolf's honey coloured hair fell over his eyes, the strands shone gold in the light of the rising sun.

'Like hers.' In his mind's eye, he conjured up his mother, her hair and eyes the colour of dripping honey in the sun light, her graceful features and delicate ways had made her the envy of all the other ladies at parties, and his father the most envied man.

Remus remembered her preening her roses in the garden when he was about five. It was his earliest memory. She stood in a white, lacy dress, illuminated by the rays of dawn, in the middle of the massive garden, foggy with the morning dew, and her eyes sparkled with love and joy as she bent down to hand the little blond boy at her side, a white rose with the thorns cut off, for never let it be doubted that she was always careful.

His first full moon, he began to feel increasingly worse. Again he lay in bed with the doctor outside, speaking hurriedly to his parents.

"You have to move him now! If you don't he'll transform here and there will be nothing to protect you!"

"He wouldn't do anything to us," said his mother, fervently hoping that it was true. "We're his parents."

"Madam," said the doctor, "he'll forget his own name when he changes, what makes you think that he'll remember you?"

"I don't care," she said softly, "I want to be with him."

"You want to be there when he becomes a monster so that he can tear you to pieces?" Mr. Lupin's voice was taunting.

"He wouldn't – "

"Oh, but he would," his father's voice nearly sounded gleeful. "He would see you, register your appearance, and calculate the threat you posed . . . then kill you."

"No . . . ."

"Slowly and brutally. Face it Amalthea, he's a monster, a natural killer, and the only thing he wouldn't do - is think twice before killing you in cold blood."

"No!!" Remus could hear her high heels clicking on the hard wood floors, coming closer to his room.

"Amalthea STOP." commanded his father.

"NO!" she was just outside his door. "Just because you're so willing to give up on our son, doesn't mean that you can make me stop loving him!"

Remus heard her hand on the doorknob as it began to turn, then he heard his father stomp up to her, and her heart-breaking cry as he threw her to the floor.

Remus spent that night (and every full moon after) in a cramped, silver-plated cage, that burned him whenever he so much as brushed against it.

'That tyrant!' thought the sixteen year-old boy furiously. 'He enjoyed her pain!' He closed his eyes as tears began to course from them. 'The pain that I caused . . . . '

'Where is he?' wondered Sirius Black in the middle of his last class (transfiguration). He never paid any attention because he was already at the top of the class along with James and Remus. Peter still struggled because he was naturally dimwitted.

After telling the other two about Remus' message (but leaving out the condition he was in) James and Peter had been confused, but pleased, they decided to use that night to pull the prank that they'd been planning, (all of the 6th year Slytherins awoke with their woolen cloaks 'slightly' tighter than usual – as if someone had stuck them in the dryer . . . . )

Sirius could just barely suppress a smirk as two Slytherin boys sauntered past in obvious discomfort, one tugging at his collar and the other trying to stretch his too-short sleeves. The black haired boy hadn't helped, but he _did_ spend the night worrying about his upset friend.

'I wish I could go check on him in the hospital wing right now.' His vision suddenly focused on Snape however, and his snicker _pink _socks, reveled by the shortened hem of his robes. 'I suppose I could wait another half hour.'

The moment the bell rang, Sirius was immediately on his way to the infirmary – immediately after joining James and Peter in mercilessly taunting Severus that is . . .

immediately after finding out that he had matching unmentionables . . .

immediately after gaining a week's worth of detention . . .

And immediately after losing Gryffindor 20 point . . . . . . . each.

"What do you mean, 'He's not here.'?" cried Sirius.

"He never came in," said a very youthful Mademoiselle Pomfrey, her lovely face displaying a profound concern. "I didn't think too much of it because ever since last year, he hardly comes in at all."

Sirius felt a guilty weight on his shoulders. The reason he hardly ever came in was because they were always with him.

'But not last night.' He thought darkly. "Right, I – I think I know where he is . . ."

"Well, go and get him!" said Madam Pomfrey.

'J'espere qu'il est bien.' (I hope he's alright) She thought as she watched the three boys race out of the medical building.

Sirius ran flat out to the Whomping Willow, with James in hot pursuit, and Peter scurrying ahead to neutralize the violent tree, their racing forms were mere silhouettes, against the horizon and night sky.

Nobody spoke when sprinting through the tunnel, the only sounds being their heavy footfalls and Peter's panting (exercise was always very strenuous for him.)

(Being a fat rat wasn't always a bed of roses.)

When they finally reached the Shrieking Shack, a grizzly sight awaited them.

"Oh. Sweet Merlin." whispered James when he came across the first streaks of blood on the walls. It was obscene. It looked as though a massacre had taken place.

"Moony!" called Sirius, the desperation in his voice was evident. "Where are you?!"

Rushing to the furthest room, Sirius found Remus lying on the floor.

"Remmy?" He knelt by his friend and roughly shook his shoulder.

The boy was as cold as ice.

Tugging off his winter cloak, Sirius briskly wrapped it around his golden-haired friend. Remus' eyes slid open and focused on Sirius.

"Oh . . . hey Padfoot."

"Jeez Rem, I'm so sorry." Sirius pulled the other into an embrace to both warm him up and to emphasize his regret.

"S'alright," Remus mumbled into the folds of Sirius' black sweater. "I told you not to come."

'But I shouldn't have listened.' thought the gray eyed teen.

"Guys, we should probably get Moony to Mademoiselle Pomfrey." said Peter.

"Yeah," agreed James, "Can you carry him Padfoot?"

"Of course." He picked up the alarmingly light boy and the group quickly made their way back to the infirmary.

She would have been the first to admit it, she was pretty young to be a nurse, being only nineteen. Poppy Miriam Pomfrey often marveled at her own brilliance and skill, she had completely destroyed the Magical Healer's Exam and won her diploma in half the amount of time it normally took a witch or wizard to get it. But her being so young, dissuaded most hospitals from hiring her. It was Dumbledore who'd been willing to take her, knowing that she was an exceptional medical aid and that her age would not impede her at all. So now, Poppy could look around at her own hospital wing and smile with satisfaction when her charges left fully healed of whatever had previously ailed them.

That smile disappeared however, when young Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, and Mr. Pettigrew walked in through the large oaken double doors with Remus Lupin in the arms of the tallest, his face was incredibly pale and when Poppy approached them she saw that the dark cloak wrapped around him was damp with blood. Practically _dripping_ with it.

"Mon Dieu! (My God!) What happened to him?" After a year of not seeing the boy in such dire condition, Mlle. Pomfrey was shocked, to say the least.

Briskly leading the way to an empty bed, the horrified nurse watched as they set him down, she then shooed his friends away into the waiting room.

"Will he be okay?" asked a worried Peter.

"I'll let you know." she then hurried back to tend to the poor boy.

"Bloody HELL!" Sirius stomped his foot in anger as he paced the length of the cushiony waiting room. Guilt gnawed at his insides.

"Sirius, calm down." mumbled James through his fingers. He sat with his face in his hands.

"But it's my fault!" he cried.

"It's nobody's fault." The messy haired teen stood and moved to pull Sirius onto the sofa.

"Don't you see?" Sirius turned and asked him. "I shouldn't have listened to him! I should have told you guys about the state he was in!"

"You just did what he asked you to do." But Sirius rambled on.

"There I was thinking he could take care of himself. God! I'm so STUPID!"

"**Listen to me mate!**" yelled James, yanking off his glasses to stare his friend in the eyes. "There's nothing you can do! So sit down and stop feeling so bloody sorry for yourself!"

Sirius stared at him incredulously. James calmed down and tried again.

"We all should have been there, but all we can do now is try to help him as much as we can."

"She's coming." announced Peter, (who'd been standing at the doors with his right ear pasted to the wood, trying to catch snippets of any useful information.)

All three boys rushed to arrange themselves on the main sofa like good little scoundrels, just as the doors opened.

Mlld. Pomfrey eyed them skeptically for a moment, but soon abandoned her suspicions to focus on the matter at hand. They all three stood to hear her news.

"All of the ribs on the left side have been repeatedly slammed against something – my guess; a wall, leaving all of them completely crushed. Both of his ankles were snapped -" she held up a hand to stop the onslaught of questions that were ready to be flung at her the moment the boys opened their mouths, which they promptly shut. "Don't ask me how, I have no idea. He has major internal bleeding, and his left shoulder was dislocated, but I already fixed that."

"Aw, Moony . . . ." Sirius' voice was barely above a whisper.

"How long do you suppose he'll have to stay here?" asked James.

"I wouldn't be willing to even let him stand for at least two months, but that's if we were doing this the muggle way. I can give him a bone mending serum, and he should be able to leave by the end of the week. I can't let him go any sooner, because internal damage is trickier to repair." She flashed them all a dazzling smile in reassurance. "But if it makes you feel better, he's awake now and you may go see him."

The three boys' faces lit up and they each ran past her into the infirmary. She smiled at their devotion, and leaned against the door to watch the reunion for a moment, before leaving to attend her own affairs.

Remus looked up suddenly to see his friends all momentarily group around the foot of his bed, determining how much he could take before rushing at him.

"Man Rem, what happened?" asked a very concerned James, examining the heavy bandaging around his friend's otherwise bare chest.

"I . . . uh . . . had a bad month." muttered Lupin evasively.

"Obviously!" said Peter.

"You're in really bad shape Moony. What happened?" queried Sirius in as much of an apologetic tone as he could muster with those gut-chewing guilt-pangs, biting deeper.

"No reason in particular . . . . ."

"Rem, you know that you can't lie. Tell the truth." Hazel eyes bore into the werewolf's through dark-framed glasses.

"No, no I can't . . . but neither can you, I mean come on, do you really expect us to believe that you have absolutely no feelings for Lily Evans what-so-ever -"

"Don't change the subject Moony." Peter said sternly as a deep blush rose in James' face.

"I got a letter . . ." he looked away and left the sentence hanging as though that answered everything.

"From whom?" ask James, his coaxing tone forced from quickly mounting frustration.

"Santa Clause."

"Moony!!!" The annoyed outbursts were unanimous as every boy gave Remus a highly disgruntled look.

"The Tooth Fairy?"

Teeth ground and fists clenched.

Remus looked down to stare at his hands which lay resolutely in his lap. "It was from my father."

"Oh." All three boys were taken aback.

"What did the letter say?" Sirius watched as the boy's expression was clouded by grief.

"She - she's gone . . ." murmured the troubled boy, still looking down and watching as his tears fell on the white bed covers.

"Who? Buttons?" Peter was referring to the family's ancient cat. "Merlin Moony, she was really old -"

"Not that ridiculous hair ball!" Remus had never gotten along well with animals of the feline persuasion. "My mother."

Silence prevailed amongst his friends. They all watched as their sandy-haired companion gruffly swiped tears from his eyes – which now fell in torrents - thus rendering his efforts depressingly futile.

"Oh . . . Rem . . ." whispered Sirius softly. He placed a bracing hand on the other's trembling shoulder in an attempt to console the tragic werewolf, who began to sob into his sleeve.

"Oh, Bloody Hell!" cried Peter, wringing his hands with worry, "We're late for detention."

"Damn! Rem, we're sorry, we'll be back tomorrow!" said James.

But Remus didn't seem to have heard them, and Sirius was not about to leave his friend willingly . . . even though the blond's sobs had been reduced to the random sniff.

"We've got to go Pads." called James as he and Peter began walking towards the door.

Sirius let his fingers slip from the his friend's shoulder as he made to follow, but it was caught by a frail, cold hand.

"Don't go." Remus whispered, his gaze still fixed upon his own blankets.

"I don't want to," replied Sirius, "I'll come back tonight." he breathed into the other's ear before reluctantly pulling away and joining the other two (who had not noticed a thing, having better things with which to occupy their minds.)

Sirius' ticked off the sluggish minutes to the end of detention in agitation, and not for the selfish reasons he usually had. 'Since when do I care so much?' he wondered to himself, remembering that only last year, if Remus couldn't make it someplace with the other marauders, the gray-eyed boy would have persuaded them to go on with the plan anyway. Sirius wasn't really an overconfident and uncaring prat, he worried if the boy was hurt, but once the crisis passed, he'd move on to different things, since nothing ever could hold his interest for long, and he was always rather distant (something he owed – or that he thought was due – to the treatment he received at home.)

That's why - as he manually wiped the trophy room display cases dustless – he was surprised to realize that he actually cared a lot, much more than he first anticipated he ever would.

He was considerably protective of the boy for whom he had developed a soft spot, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Could it be because he was a werewolf, and the feeling he felt were derived from pity? . . . No, Remus' secret had been revealed all the way back in first year . . .

He remembered that day perfectly . . . almost.

It was midwinter and the grizzly weather outside was just barely beating the temperature in the castle. The few that stayed behind over the holidays (because of their families, Remus and Sirius were among them) could clearly see their breaths as the warmer, vaporized water particles, condensed when coming in contact with the air molecules that quivered in midair at zero degrees Fahrenheit (way below the minus point on the red mercury line, labeled 'Celsius') and it was to those such conditions that an eleven year-old Sirius Black awoke - to his great surprise – at roughly ten to nine. It was a near impossible task to wake the dark-haired boy before noon, if he did not see that doing so was necessary, and those foolish enough to attempt this endeavor, would either be punched viciously in the face this varied, according to where the blow landed or promptly hexed in a such a way that - had it not been the bane of the Black clan that performed the incantation - would have made his infamous ancestors proud.

Trying to remember what it was like to eat breakfast, Sirius (who had not managed to return to his original state of slumber) grudgingly got dressed and (with his eyes still half closed) made his way down to the common room.

Remus wasn't anywhere to be found, and nobody that the young Black questioned had seen his dorm mate after dinner the previous night. Searching for the blond boy in the library - with its shifting shelfs and its books that would talk to you about quantum physics when asked on the whereabouts of a small, pale first year boy with golden eyes and hair - was out of the question. So, after simply asking the beady eyed librarian if she'd seen him that day, and receiving a determined - and almost rude - "no" along with a disapproving glare (Mrs. Pince never had liked him very much, and luckily for her, the feeling was mutual,) Sirius made his way to the infirmary, to confirm his suspicions that Remus was working on breaking the record of Most Visits To The Hospital Wing Before The New Year. What shocked him, however, was the state of the boy in the hospital bed.

"Jeez Rem, he really took it out on you this time didn't he?" Sirius was humouring Remus by pretending to believe the story that he'd told them when they first found him in the medical wing of Hogwarts, just a couple days after school commenced, that someone had beaten him up. At first, Sirius (along with James and Peter) had taken the explanation for his gruesome injuries to be the truth and didn't think it odd that the amber eyed boy didn't remember what he looked like, since there were types of spells that could shroud your appearance from those around you. But as the "attacks" continued and every time the explanation remained unaltered, Sirius began to become slightly skeptical in regards to the veracity of Remus' story. Why would this person pick on Remus in particular, and for no apparent reason? Did he or she have nothing better to do? What did they find offending in the (as far as he knew) normal first year? What did they stand to gain? Why did he refuse their offers to find, and bring the culprit to justice, and why were the attacks only every four weeks? Slowly, the story began to poke holes in itself, and Sirius finally came to the conclusion that it was nothing but a badly spun lie, that had now unraveled completely.

"Wha- oh, yeah." said the pale boy half-heartedly. Sirius thought he saw guilt, glimmering under the surface of those golden eyes. "So, what did you . . ." but the slate-eyed boy was too indignant to listen to what the other boy was saying, 'How can he just sit there lying to me?'

"Sirius?"

"What?" he snapped out of his anger induced trance.

"I asked you what you felt was so important that you felt you had to get out of bed before the sun was halfway through its daily journey."

"Rem," began Sirius, completely bypassing the question, "why don't you just tell me the truth?"

The boy's honey hair fell over his eyes as his head snapped up in surprise. He blinked once but remained silent.

"I know that you weren't really beaten up by some mysterious person, why don't you stop giving me pretences and give me the reality?"

"I . . . I – don't know what you're talking about . . ."

"Come on Remus, I know you're lying!!" his temper quickly got the best of him and he advanced on the already bruised and beaten boy whose eyes squeezed shut and whose arms raised in attempt to block the anticipated blow. But Sirius didn't strike him, looking up Remus saw Sirius gaping openly at the scabbing wounds on his arms.

"Are these . . . bites?" He asked, his eyes never leaving the savage puncture wounds in the boy's pale flesh. The owner thought carefully before answering.

"Yes."

"They look canine." Sirius had been bitten before by a German Shepard, but the wound hadn't been quite as large as this, the dog that left this would have to have a jaw at least twice as large.

"That's because it is . . ." the other boy answered vaguely.

Sirius began to put he pieces together, Remus disappeared once a month and came back in very bad condition, he hadn't wanted his friends to go after the one guilty, he sat before him now with canine bites on his arms . . .

"Oh sweet Merlin!" Remus' face went paler (if that was possible) at Sirius' outburst. "You wrestle werewolves?"

"What?! No!" the black haired boy had not choice but to believe the other's very frank response, and (rather crestfallen) decided to simply see if he would tell him.

"I'm a . . . a . . ." he stopped, and took a bracing breath, "I'm a werewolf."

Silence.

Thud.

The ever so brave and manly Sirius Black had crumpled to the white, tiled floor of the infirmary in a dead faint.


End file.
